Though the temperature be near sixty there's a chill in the air--
the sun is trying to dispel it but Jack Frost put it there.
With the winter season at hand--
snow is waiting in the wings to toss her blanket of white over the land.
The leaves have left the trees all naked and bare--
the song birds have left for the south, no beautiful music fills the air.
All cozy and warm by the fireplace, the wind is howling outside--
Jack Frost painting the windows with his usual amount of pride.
You may long for the spring to return to you--
but in the meantime think of all the wonderful things one can do.
There are hayrides and sleigh rides with bells a jingling--
ice skating on the pond, your fingers a tingling.
One can hunt for small game to fill the cook's pot--
one can think of the happy hours your youth has brought.
It's only natural to dream of Spring and of Summer that is soon to follow--
to want to fish in the pond or watch the masterpiece being built by the barn swallow
But in the meantime make peace with yourself and enjoy the wintertime--
'ere your youth slips away and it's your life's evening tide.